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History of Lothandris
See also: Lothandris Turn 0 }|turn00| For ages, the humans of Lothandris lived in fear of the giant spiders that dominated the surface of their island. Their only respite lay deep underground in the cave systems where the spiders could not go. Generations passed and the Lothans dug deeper into the island, creating cities of vast tunnel networks. Their bodies changed as well, their limbs elongating and becoming more flexible until they could no longer be considered human. It wasn’t until 50 years ago that a mage discovered how to lull the giant spiders into servitude. With the surface of the island much safer, the Lothans began to build outwards in all directions. Buildings jutted out from all sides of the island, and entire cities were built into the cliff faces at the edges. The silk from the newly domesticated spiders became a great resource for the Lothans, providing an abundant source of lightweight, durable material. Now, with the population growing at a rapid rate, the Lothans must find new islands to expand to. The King and his eightfold court have declared a new mandate of exploration and expansion. Riding in balloons of gossamer silk and carrying large sacs of giant spider eggs, Exploration parties have been charged with finding new lands to settle. Only fate could know where the winds will take them. }} Turn 1 }|turn01| An excerpt from the Journal of Ansai Netharys, from the day of the first expedition. All this formality and celebration is tiring. 50 years ago when I first charmed the great spiders on the surface, I thought of how nice it would be to be known as the Lord of Spiders, The Father of the Arcanid Arts, or whatever grand titles I’m called by now. Admittedly all the money and fame is nice, but I find myself increasingly occupied by my duties as a member of the Eightfold Court. My permanent seat among the King’s Chosen feels more like a punishment than a privilege. Today alone, I attended three banquets, three dances, and two parades from each of the courts. That was not even including the ceremony to send off our brave pioneers. All of these events I was invited to as a matter of course, and all of which I had to accept as a matter of courtesy. So in short, another day in which I was denied any time for my research. And this would have been useful for the expedition if only I had been able to finish it! I advised His Majesty to delay the departure until I had found a way to make the gossamer less susceptible to flame, but He’s eager like the rest of them. Saria Kiris, the head of the Builder’s Guild, is already ranting about great bridges of silk and stone joining the two islands together and we haven’t even settled the new land, let alone figured out how she’ll even be able to build such a massive structure! Well, no use worrying about the past. What’s caught in the web can’t be reclaimed. Hopefully I can get some progress done tomorrow. Expansion (North) Develop Power Research x2 Results +10 (70-60) +21 (81-60) -13 (47-60), -8 (52-60) Excerpt from the Journal of Ansai Netharys, from the day of the first expedition’s return. This expedition has become an unmitigated disaster. Once I was rid of the the pioneers, I thought I would be left free to my devices, or at least that I would be buggered by the pomp and process as much as usual. It came yesterday, a message from the expedition, borne by their fastest ship. Good news, the messenger said. They’d landed, and were, as he said, flush with luck. (Colony struck! One more success needed to establish a province there.) I sit here exhausted, many ages hence. The celebrations lasted for days. I stole away to myself when I could, reprieved for a moment from the ever present offered glass and finger food. At one cocktail party, I confided in dear Saria, both of us nearly in tears over our hopeless situation. I was always pursued by inquiring minds, imposing upon me nauseating questions about a particularly exotic plant brought back from the new colony: a bulbous gourd with a five-pointed star of a flower. Who cares? The thing is altogether tasteless, yet the noblest minds of my generation season it beyond recognition and laud its wondrous qualities. Not to mention that it’s a plant of the surface, the cursed thing. The misguided effort to plant and grow the thing here, on the surface, is already bearing fruit. Those idiots are even calling it an expedition. I am ridden of hope. What’s caught in the web can’t be reclaimed. (Power +4) }} Turn 2 }|turn02| Agris, A land of new beginnings, across the Tamric sea, the great divide. That’s what the new lands were called according to the royal decree, and those names were all anyone would talk about. Seros had heard about the new colony across the Tamric Sea, founded by the First Expedition. It was rumoured that the land was bountiful in new resources, and if the fervor around the new starpetal fruits was any indication, then whatever else was on that island would make him rich! At least, that’s what he hoped would happen. When King Agriope declared that the Agris was open to the people of Lothandris, Seros had immediately sold everything he had to get on one of the first ships to leave. It was an irresistible opportunity! An entirely new land with all sorts of trade possibilities. Of course, he had to be quick to take advantage of the situation. All the guilds were preparing to travel as well, but they would have to take their time, building up resources and revenue, but he could leave now and get first pick of everything. That was his plan, and he’d bet everything on it. He’d left so much behind too. His parents didn’t understand the potential of this opportunity and begged him not to go, but he was his own man now that he was past the age of 50. He had also left his apprenticeship unfinished, but he never really cared to learn about construction anyways. Most of the island of Lothandris had already been filled with buildings, and creating a bridge across the Tamric Sea was impossible no matter what the guildmaster said. A bell rung out across the deck, signalling that it was time for the ship to depart, and Seros’ heart raced with excitement. As they sailed out into the open skies, he looked back toward the island he had called home all his life. The facades of the upper-class housing looked magnificent from so far away. It was a rare sight for someone like him to see, since only the wealthiest merchants and the Eightfold Court could afford to live on the edges. Now, he was farther out than any of them. Maybe he could get his own cliffside mansion once he became rich. It would be easy to find space on Agris. Eventually, the ship encountered some clouds and Lothandris was lost from sight. Seros let out a sigh and returned belowdecks. There was nothing left to do now but wait, so that’s what he would do. Expansion(Northern Island) - establish new province from the First Expedition Develop(Income) Research(Fire-resistant silk) - continued from previous turn Research(spidersilk construction) - continued from previous turn bonus if this counts Results -4, -52, +36, !1 There was a shout and a bang. Seros looked about the ship’s deck. Clouds rolled across it, tangible tendrils of the stuff breaking into whirling eddies on the masts that jutted out over the sides, carrying the huge sails. Above, the envelope was hazy, the sky above it gray. There was another shout, and the door to the hold flew open. From out of it, a man stumbled, falling over backwards, scurrying toward on his hands and knees. He pressed his back against the gunwales, sliding up next to Seros. The young man blinked at him. He looked to have a good bearing. Perhaps a scientist, by his paradoxically ragged dress and elegant eye-glasses on his ash-colored nose. “Don’t I know you?” Seros said. “Wh-what?” the man said. “I do,” Seros said. “Why, you’re Ansai. Ansai Netharys.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ansai muttered. “Yes, it’s you! Why, you must have reconsidered my offer. It was too alluring for you, it was. The open frontier, a fresh starpetal pie-” Ansai shushed him, and Seros stopped with a start. He was, Seros remarked, in rather a fashion. His hair, his clothes, all in disarray. “Listen, boy,” Ansai said. “You’re young. Hide yourself in the captain’s quarters. Tell him to turn the ship around.” Ansai’s eyes went wide. “No, we can’t land,” he said. “I can’t let that monster-” “Monster?” Ansai’s eyes fixed on the hold door, his purple complexion draining its last tinge of red. Seros followed his eyes. He saw, first a long foreleg of a spider, followed by seven more, clicking down with explosive percussion upon the deck, sending splinters into the air. It rose up, towering above them. Seros tried to come up with a size comparison, a ratio perhaps, but instead he cowered, babbling. “Th-th-th s-s-s-” Ansai shushed him. “Don’t move,” he whispered. They both froze. The giant spider loomed closer, venom dripping off its mandibles. They gleamed with a hypnotizing light, and Seros realized the whole creature was covered in a metallic sheen. “What is that thing?” Seros hissed. “It’s my research… pet.” “Your pet?” Its mandibles clicked, stopping over their heads. Ansai gulped. “I was trying to make… a more resilient silk fiber, cooperating with some friends of mine. Her sister was far… calmer. It was fire-resistance we were looking for in her. We tweaked the humors in her blood, you see. Made the silk far sturdier to open flame.” He swallowed again. It was hard to tell if the spider was listening to him, or paying attention. “But, Lorelai… well, too much iron-” The spider twitched, its head jerking down until its black orbs hung above them, her eyes reflecting their faces. “-not good for the blood!” The spider dove, pincers flared. Ansai pushed the boy, diving the other way. Lorelai’s jaw came down on the gunwale. The wood crunched, splintering. It tried to pull back, but the wood had twisted, trapping it. Its legs skittered on the floor, and it emitted a child-like scream. “Now!” Ansai shouted. “Now, what?” The two of them swung around behind her. They grabbed her abdomen, fingers slipping on its iron hide. It squealed as they lifted it up, still stuck to the gunwales. As they tipped it over, the wood twisted, snapping, and the spider fell. Its neck cracked on the edge of the deck. It twisted, caught in the wind. It slammed against the mast. Its lifeless body hung, legs caught up in the sailcloth. Ansai hung over the gunwale. “I’m so sorry, Lorelai,” he said. “I’m so sorry.” He watched, as one who kills should not look away from their victim. As he watched, he saw a faint line trickling off of the creature, trailing out behind the ship. His eyes focused, finding little specks. He gripped the side. His knuckles went white. Her children. “Oh, gods,” Ansai muttered. (Hyper-Critical fumble! -30 to iron-silk research until you recover a specimen. But be wary in your exploration. Iron Orphans precede you.) (+3 Military Tech. You might need it.) }} Turn 3 }|turn03| BUILD THE FUTURE! EXPLORE THE FRONTIER!! ATTENTION PEOPLE OF LOTHANDRIS. The Builder’s Guild is in need of able-bodied workers! Travel to AGRIS and assist in new construction on the frontier! WORKERS WILL BE PAID WELL AND GIVEN FOOD & BOARD. Apply at the guildhall in King’s Plaza. JOIN THE BUILDER’S GUILD TODAY! Expansion (Agris) x2 - Promote to province Develop (Culture) Develop (Power) Results +6, -36, -45, -21 The frontier homes covered the southwest underside of the island, greeting travels from the homeland with a wall of welcoming architecture. Spider-hung masons chipped away at the crude faces, turning what had been an array of jagged holes into a single tapestry of angles and statues, the dock itself a yawning mouth of natural cave turned into the visage of a great underfish. By the time the builders families followed, the first wave of immigrants, they were detailing the underfish’s teeth, and a storm was stirring in the deep. Parents and siblings and strong children waited at the docks, full of anticipation and relief. “Daddy!” A gangly, little girl scattered down the gangplank, leaping into her father’s equally gangly but more stone-chiseled arms. “Oof,” he said. “Mizzy? You’re so heavy!” She was followed by three more children and two older women, one much older than the other. {My son,} the oldest woman said in the old language. She grabbed the man by the cheek’s shaking his face and slapping him. {You have made a great work in this place,} she said. “What’s zaza saying?” the little girl said. The younger woman smiled. “She’s proud of your father,” Ilchirr said. “We’re all proud of you, Zilus.” “I’m just glad we’re all together again,” Zilus said. “Come. If you’re proud of the facade, wait until you see the interior. There’s more chambers in this place than you can pluck a string at, and it’s not even done!” established! +5 Power, +4 Income, +4 Culture. THE WHEEL - STORM Many signs herald the arrival of a storm: the cloud layers buckle; they stir, as if awoken; then, when the wind starts to rise, it brings with it not the cutting chill of an air-stream redirected nor of a shift in the yearly cycle: it brings a warm, roiling wind that sends a chill down the spine, and slowly, the sky darkens. As the undersky grew black, Zilus hurried through the wind-whipped corridors. It was no use to board up the portals on the cliff face: there were simply too many, and they had far too little wood for the job. Instead, they retreated into the interior rooms, sealing off the inner corridors and leaving the first chambers uninhabited: they were still mostly bear; the stone could handle some wind just fine. The wind changed, and Zilus fell against the wall. The stone could handle just about anything. Everything else should turn and run. “Mizzy!” he shouted, his voice muffled by the wicked wind. Each intersection he passed brought on a crosswind, whipping through the network of the exterior. He passed boarded up doors and corridors piled with chairs and tapestries that were too heavy to move. His mouth hung grim as he scoured the ground, planting his heels in cracks with every step. There was so much ground to cover, and the storm was already bearing down. Surely Mizzy was smarter than this. He heard sobbing, and as he approached another intersection, he found it a portal leading out to the dock. Wind whistled and howled, and as he rounded the bend, he saw his daughter huddled against the wall, cowering from the great open cavern. The ships had all pushed off, seeking shelter further inland. Zilus took one step at a time, legs straining. “Mizzy!” he shouted. His daughter, a mere armlength away, looked up at him, surprised at his presence. She clambered up, slipping in the wind. He lunged, grabbing at her and the stones. He clutched her tight as the wind gusted and howled, blowing his collar up to his ears. A deep storm rarely brings debris. The detritus that a storm creates usually gets flung from it, and a storm that rises from the deep has nothing left to fling except wind and water. There was the mythical storm that carried up shipwrecks and even underfish from the deepest depths, but that’s what they were: myths. And yet, there was a thumping. A great thumping, as of stone cracking. Of trees falling. Of things blown across the seas, and of impacts in the sides of walls. Zilus looked out over the sea at the black wind to see that its color came not only from the clouds blocking out the sun but from the shapes the shriveled light fell on. Black shapes, twisting and spiraling through the deep, flinging out across the sky. One shape sailing through the maw of the bay, careening through the huge space as the wind lost its hold. Another shape slammed into one of the chiseled teeth, loosening it with a thunder that shook the world. Zilus pulled his daughter around the doorway as it impacted the ground, shrapnel pinging off the wall behind him, cracking the stone. “Wrap your arms around me,” Zilus shouted. “Hold on tight!” He hefted her up, wearing her like a sling across his chest. He plodded along the walls, ears straining through the howl of the wind. He didn’t think about what he’d seen. He couldn’t. Somewhere in the back of his mind, there was a half-remembered rumor passed on from a sailor, but he cut his mind off at that. It was better not to know. Still, his ears strained. When he came to the door he’d slipped through, he knocked, waiting as her heard furniture moving and nails pulling from wood. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a black shape twisting. In the corner beside him, turning back and forth over a boarded door, something slick and black clung. Only when he squinted did Zilus see its legs, and he counted them: eight. They shuffled around as it turned about, beating against the stone and wood. A spider. Bigger than any spider he’d ever seen, and black and crude like lamp oil. When it found a place its leg caught, it twisted, diving at it with its pincer and trying to worm them in. When that failed, it tossed its head, turning again. Above the wind, there was the scraping and chipping of wood. And chittering. And screeching. The other way down the corridor, there was a crash and screech. Zilus spied, from his periphery, another black shape skittering like a stone cast across a pool. He held his daughter tight, knocking furiously. It noticed him. Or it seemed to. It was turning this way, tickering down the corridor. He thrashed at the door and Mizzy sobbed in silence, her face buried in his shoulder and his periphery filled and filled with black until the door opened. And he fell through, scattering on the floor. Two other builders slammed the door back, nailing it shut as a clicking ticking sounded on the wood. “What is that?” one of them asked. For hours, Zilus couldn’t speak. He curled up on the floor with his daughter in his arms. Every tap or rattle or distant vibration of the stone made him freeze and his teeth clench. When the storm died down and he found his words, he only said to stay inside. Inside. Where it’s safe. Spidercane drops an army on Agris. You cannot develop Agris further until it’s dealt with. WEB - Because the Lothans live away from the surface, their territories are saved from the damage of the storm. }} Turn 4 }|turn04| The winds of winter blow strong throughout the Tamric Sea, but the people of Lothandris have long since learned how to adapt. When the wind turns chill and frost first forms on the great webs of the surface, preparations are set into motion. Lothandris and Agris recede into themselves, the facades and exterior entrances abandoned for the core of the island. Many of the Eightfold Court move from the facades to take residence in the halls of the Royal Palace located at the center of the Lothandris. Almost all openings to the outer world are sealed off with spidersilk walls that become solid as stone as the frost builds, and great fires are lit inside the caves to spread warmth throughout the city. Only a few remote entrances are left open to allow observation of the weather outside. Through these holes, the howling winds give life to the city as she sings a solemn song in mourning of her lost children. As winter closes in, it is a time of both remembrance and celebration. Using the stockpiles gathered through the months, each of the guilds take turns throwing great feasts and celebrations for the public in thanks for their work. Each competes to outdo the other in hopes of attracting more workers in the following year. Being first this year, the Cook’s Guild made a big splash by hosting a feast full of dishes and treats made with starpetal fruit. Meanwhile, the Royal Palace is filled with activity. For a time, the entirety of the Eightfold Court all live under the same roof. It is a perfect time for banquets and meetings between members. It is also a perfect time for intrigue and plotting. The palace quickly becomes the frame for a complex web of alliances and disputes, where laws are made and repealed, and new members replace the old. This is an especially interesting time, since one of the court is not present. Ansai Netharys has instead decided to stay at his lab in Agris. Will the King maintain his traditional seat among his Chosen, or will someone else rise to take it? Develop (Culture) x2 Develop (income) x2 Results +34, -18, -27, +34 In old days, food had been scarce underground. Old Lothans had relied on the surface for survival, rising often out of the darkness to hunt. But such vulgar acts are now relegated mostly to the champions of the upper class who, with pomp and circumstance, perform such old ways as their sport. There is no such thing as scarcity in Lothandris — at least, not this winter. Plates are full, banquets are crowded, and furry pets sleep sound and warm. Even public balls are held, provoking the invitation of those who enjoy no status to, for once, enjoy pleasures beyond their station and join in days of revelry. At one such ball (and subsequently in every ball and household hence) a game is devised to take the bulbous, orange gourd of the starpetal (of which there are countless), scoop out its insides, cut faces into its sides, and to light them from inside by candle. To see them staring out on the halls and the dark tunnels lined with houses is a haunting sight, but it only stirs up a cheeky sort of fear, the kind that brings more laughter than trepidation. (+5 Culture, +7 Income in Lothandris) {Development difficulty in the Lothandris province increases from 60 -> 65.} The absence of Ansai (”Dearest Ansai…” “What could anyone do with him?” “I do hope he’s getting on well.”) cast only the thinnest pallor over the whole affair, the worst offense being all the talk of spider attacks, especially encouraged by a man named Seros with no title and very little tact. And of course Saria Kiris, the head of the Builder’s Guild, who took to her wine drastically when he or spiders were mentioned at all. Meanwhile in Agris, supplies start to dwindle. A surface party comes back missing two men, one of the survivors missing a leg. Ansai Netharys works with a captured specimen, its eight legs bound so tightly that it can barely move. But its sisters and brethren have no such limitations. {Agris loses 1 Power, 1 Income} }} Turn 5 }|turn05| Ansai Netharys Let out a huff as he set down a box of vials. He wasn’t suited for all this heavy lifting, but no one was available to help him it seemed, what with the Solstice coming up so soon. Usually there were plenty of people in the winter mood; cheerful, relaxed, and (more importantly) willing to help others. These were the Frozen Days after all. It was the one time all of Lothandris could feel safe, since it is at his time of the year that the last of the adult spiders on the surface freeze and die, leaving behind massive egg sacs woven around trees. As is tradition, when the cold of Winter reaches its peak, the people of Lothandris venture forth from their caves for a long night of harvest and celebration.The Guilds are the first to surface. Led by the Carpenters Guild, teams of men spread out across the surface to gather enough wood for the coming year. Accompanied by Weavers, they chop down and haul off any untouched trees and selectively burn sac-trees designated by the Weavers. As the Guilds fan further out, the rest of Lothandris follow in their wake, dancing and playing games in the snow one of the more popular activities is Sky-fishing. Lightweight crafts made of silk are thrown up into the air and caught by the cold wind while the “fisher” controls it with silk lines. Many are made to look like the various fish found in underground lakes, while others take a more creative approach. The celebration continues with food and drink until morning arrives, and everyone returns to their caves. Unfortunately, the settlers of Agris cannot afford to celebrate the Solstice this year. The Iron-Spiders that have infested this island have been causing great difficulty with further expansion, and with the adults becoming lethargic and slowly freezing to death, it is the best opportunity to strike out. Every able-bodied citizen of Agris is being armed and trained to escort the lumber teams. At Ansai’s request, the main expeditionary force is also preparing to capture one of the Iron-Spiders so they can learn how to learn how to better deal with them. But none of that matters to Ansai at the moment. It’s only a few days before the Occulting, and this is the strongest one in ages. There are many Lothan stories surrounding the Occulting, most of them strange. Some are tales of heroes like Varik Brightwalker, who ventured out to save a loved one during the Occulting, only to find that the spiders had not hurt her, but built an egg sac to house her in the middle of Summer. Others are stories of danger, warning of the “Wild Light” which make the spiders go mad with bloodlust. One thing was for sure however, the light of the Occulting has a strange effect on the great spiders of Lothandris, and Ansai was determined to study it closely. He’d even had a special room constructed with a skylight for this exact purpose. Now, if only he could get help moving the cages here... Develop (Power) Agris Develop (Income) Agris Recruit military (Land) Agris Research (Occult spiders) Agris Results 90(+36), 50(-14), 22(-34), 66(+7) His long arms slung around, his arms a jointed lever, the last limb a handle of ebony wood ending in an axe head. It stuck inside the trunk, cleaving another bit from the tree’s flesh. He pulled, sending splinters of bark into his face. He spat and sneezed, breath turning to crystals in the frigid moonlight as he brushed wood off of him. He glanced around at the other men lumbering about the force. In the time it’d taken him to get through this tree (at least, he hoped it was nearly through), the men around him had begun and finished their marks. They’d already moved on, and as he watched, one of them stepped back and shouted as another trunk toppled. Few of them were lumberers by trade, of course, but everyone in Agris was doing everything they could. Maybe the other men were better suited for this kind of work, but at least each ax had an arm to swing it, he kept telling himself. He held the ax up to the light. The head was even more chipped than the last time he’d check it, all from the knots of these tough trees. “Don’t worry about it, Duagleth,” the volunteer foreman had said. “It’s happening to all of us.” It’s these trees, he’d said. They were different from the ones at home. Something about the way they grew made them incredibly tough. They’d make a good charcoal. The monthly ship was carrying a load of seedlings back to Lothandris. Maybe, Duagleth had said, the promise of good lumber would drum up support for a military intervention on Agris. The foreman shrugged. “Those soft hand-washers don’t give a tinker’s dam about us,” he said. “Who’s to say they won’t just leave us out here to die? That’s what they’ve been doing.” Power in Lothandris Duagleth heaved another crystalline sigh, hefting his ax to deliver another long-armed strike. The wood splintered and creaked, and Duagleth wheeled away, pulling his wool cap off his head and shouting with joy. As he looked up the length of the toppling trunk, his heart sank. A web-white ball clung to it, obscured by the boughs, and another clung above that. Between them, an iron-black shape dangled from its spinneret. By the time he’d shouted warnings, running after the other men, the trunk had already tipped past the point of no return, leaves whooshing on the way down. The spider tumbled from the treetop, slung on its web across the forest floor. It came to rest in front of him, between him and the other men. He stopped dead, his hat in one hand and his ax in the other. When the black shape righted itself, it him down, stretching its legs toward him. He dropped his hat, gripping the ax with ten white fingers. He edged back from it, huffing and puffing as it ambled toward him. If he could barely cut down a tree, what use would an ax be against a metal spider? He choked up on the ax anyways, choking down a mouthful of spit that tasted like iron. The first of the creature’s eight legs came down on the hat laying on the ground, and between the webbing and the wool, it stuck, lifting up as the spider continued forward. As the hat came up beside its head, it twisted in shock, recoiling from it. It chattered its fangs, throwing its head and legs until it rolled onto its back, flinging the hat away. Without it, the creature calmed down, its legs curling up in relief. Duagleth blinked. He picked his hat from the ground, toeing forward until he stood above the spider. It looked up at him, eyes catching the wild light. He held it out, and it bent a couple legs curiously toward it, brushing it and his arms gently to smell him with its sensitive leg hairs. It made a bubbling sound in its throat, like a baby. Duagleth grinned. A moment later, the spider lunged up, engulfing the wool hat and, consequently, Duagleth’s arm, in its inky maw. Young Seros knocked, but seeing noone through the barred window, he let himself in. “Ansai?,” Seros called into the scientist’s musty realm. “I heard you needed some help with something.” He wiped his feet on the mat, hanging his coat by the door. A scream echoed from one of the side rooms, muffled by the books and papers strewn about in this one. It was followed by a laugh. Seros froze, head swiveling one way. It swiveled the other. “Lord Netharys?” After peeking into a couple side rooms, he found a room with a double-door opening. Both of the doors were lifted off their hinges and leaned up against the wall along with a set of picks, shovels, and a pile of fresh debris. Inside, he found what appeared to be, in every conceivable way, a large iron spider. In the corner, a strapping man in a wool coat sat terrified, clutching his arm to his chest. “Ah,” Seros said, already sliding backwards. “Excuse me.” Again he heard a laugh, stopping him at the threshold. The spider rocked and twisted, and next to it, cackling madly, he saw Ansai Netharys in a state of bliss, scratching at its hairy hide. It chittered and purred. “Oh! Seros!” Ansai said. “I thought you left for home months ago!” “Ansai. It’s a pleasure to see you again as well,” Seros said. “Anyway, you seem busy-” “Could you grab that jar over there? The one with the membrane on top of it.” Seros re-entered the room with care, sliding around to a few small crates that made a sort of desk. There was a line of jam jars fastened shut. A few of them contained a black liquid like dark blood, a few were filled with a spiraling pile of silky string, and a couple were filled with more solid substances: a sprig of black hair and a shard of exoskeleton. A few sat empty, the tops covered by linen and secured with twine. With an empty jar, he slid his feet closer and closer until he was a couple arm-lengths away, stretching toward Ansai. “Don’t worry, she’s harmless,” Ansai said. In the corner, Duagleth groaned. “Mostly harmless,” Ansai said. “He’ll be fine, he didn’t get any venom. He’s just in shock.” He grabbed the jar, sliding it deftly over one of the spider’s fangs. A jet of clear, silvery liquid shot out, impacting the bottom of the jar. “Wow!” Ansai said. “That’s a lot of venom there, hey pretty girl?” Seros took a couple steps away. “Amazing creatures,” Ansai said. “Their iron exoskeleton is so strong, but it also weighs them them down. Can you see underneath her abdomen? The openings in her exoskeleton to her book lungs and trachea are exceptionally large, possibly due to heavy breathing during early growth. All that iron is heavy, isn’t it girl?” “Ah,” Seros said, perking up. “That’s promising. Given enough men, we could flip them over or surround them, then exploit their weak abdomens.” Ansai nodded somberly. “Yes. That is promising.” “N-not that we need to!” Seros said. “Now that we know they can be controlled.” Ansai glanced up at the skylight, a wry smile on his face. He pulled the jar, now completely full, off the spider’s fang and scratched her furry head. “I’m afraid not. She won’t be like this much longer,” he said. “I think it’s about time to say goodbye.” “You’re letting it go?” “Unless you wanted to trying killing her.” Seros shrunk away. Ansai sighed. “I don’t think there’s a cage in Agris that will hold you through the night. When night falls, there’s nothing short of death that’ll stop her from getting back to her babies. Help me open the skylight, would you?” Seros helped pull the chain, the glass and metal grate retracting, opening to the clean moonlight. As Seros escorted the jibbering lumberjack out of the room, Ansai said his last goodbyes, planting a kiss behind her eyes. With the doors back on and the samples safely in the study, they watched her wander about the room, ascending meekly toward the moonlight to return to her children in the forest. military units will now have combat advantage against Iron Spiders. (Each army rolls twice and takes the higher result.) order to research spiders further, you’ll need to capture a specimen. }} Turn 6 }|turn06| To: Lord Volerus Ryn, High Commander of the Expeditionary Fleet Lord Ryn, I hope this letter finds you well, as we both know how the Court get restless in the Winter. As you requested, I am writing to apprise you of the state of Agris and I’m pleased to say that our fortune seems to be taking a turn for the better! The Frost Harvest in Agris has yielded a great supply of lumber to work with. Our storerooms are filled and the surplus is being put immediately to use in new construction. Now that we have a good stockpile of material, we continue our expansion and construction in earnest. The Carpenter’s Guild has been hard at work using the new, tougher wood to keep up with the demand for more durable picks. With a bit of luck and effort, we should be able to expand the tunnels and double the size of the city. The morale in the city has picked up quite a bit as well. With the worst of Winter behind us, and the Harvest providing a generous supply of wood, we’ve finally been able keep the city’s bonfires lit and warm everyone up a bit. Cheering and laughter can be heard in the Taverns and Dining Halls for the first time in months, and everyone seems to have a better demeanor about them. As for the infestation of Iron Spiders, The recent encounters and research conducted by Lord Netharys during the Occulting has provided vital information on their nature. To further pursue the possibility of taming them, he has requested the assistance of a larger force with the specific intent to capture an adult specimen as well as an egg sac if possible. Given that he has proven it is indeed possible to make them docile, I have given him command of some of my spearmen. Aside from my report, I presume you saw the event that occurred during the Occulting? Lord Netharys has been going on and on about his theories regarding the Moon fragment for some days now, and would like me to inform you of the great potential such an object would have to further his research. Do you intend to send out an expedition? Yours Sincerely, Vathan Argith, Captian of the First Expedition Recruit Land Units (Agris) x2 Develop power (Agris) x2 Results -47, +27, +27, +31 Captain Vathan Argith finished his letter with slow, deliberate strokes of his pen, rolling and sealing it. In his boney fingers at the end of his long, gnarly arm, the letter quivered. It betrayed a horrible, wracking panick deep in his gut, but it wasn’t something his messenger boy would notice. Too eager to please, and a bit dozy from hunger. He snatched it from Captain Argith, speeding off to the only place letters ever went anymore. The ship would be leaving soon. Vathan contemplated his pen resting in its ink-well. A generous supply of wood. Cheering and laughter. The worst of winter behind us. The worst behind us. Those words had come from this pen, from his hand, addressed to his countrymen. It was mostly lies. If not lies, half-truths, or at best his own well-wishes. True, the Court could become so rapt in its own web of intrigue that each breath came with a new lie. Lying to that volicious Lord Ryn was that easy, but in fact, he was far from court now and all its thinking, and he felt it in the sincere lies of his pen. He was sitting here, in this new place, separated by a stretch of sea, his vision of Lothan society grew darker, fainter, yet more sinister every day. Every glimpsed remembrance of the court or the charmed and pampered city life around it played at comedy in his mind. Here, there were no parlors or courts. There were only stone walls, vast stretches of untamed wilderness, and dark things that shuffled about in the night. And yet, there had been some cheering and some laughter after all, he remembered with a curious smile. Not all lies, no. Wishes, then. But the worst of Winter was ahead. Until Spring breaks, the worst of winter is always ahead. Atop a scaffold in the part of the dock, he surveys the recruits at the shoulder of Lord Netharys. Each of them are armed with sturdy spears, the sturdiest he’d seen in ages. The men, too, were made of sturdy stuff. Agris was in them now. It’s possible the spiders didn’t stand a chance. raised on Agris! It starts at +6 (2x your Military tech) (-25 Wealth) Power on Agris }} Category:History of Al'jann